


Seven Minutes of Halloween

by sebbykurt



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M, Rickyl, also gleen/maggie, and beth, and that amy chick, because this ship needs more fic, fluffy fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 16:16:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1020775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebbykurt/pseuds/sebbykurt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick hates halloween—always has.  But it turns out that secret crushes on life-long friends are enough to convince anyone to do anything. highschool!AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Minutes of Halloween

Rick hates Halloween. 

He hates the costumes and the smell of cheap candy that clings to his skin like a second sheen of sweat.  He hates the cat ears and the orange socks decorated with poorly drawn ghosts and witch hats.  (The only thing he’ll ever admit to liking is the candy corn, but he only ever eats such a small amount every year.)

Daryl loves it, though, and so every year, despite his complaints, Rick Grimes is roped into going out and buying a costume, harassing people for candy, and eating it all in one ridiculous sitting.

He expects the same thing this year, even though they’re both sixteen and okay, maybe trick-or-treating is a little juvenile, but he’s up for whatever makes Daryl happy.  He’s thrown off guard when Daryl tells him (he doesn’t _ask_ , which is a pretty large testament to Rick’s devotion to the other boy) that they’re going to a party instead.

“What d’you mean a _party_?” Rick asks, struck dumb by the suggestion.  Rick isn’t particularly popular, and Daryl is so much of an ass towards people he doesn’t know that neither of them really have that many friends besides each other.

Daryl snorts, rolling his eyes as he pushes through a rack of super-hero capes and plastic shields.  “A _party_ , Grimes.  Music’n beer’n pretty girls.  Jesus, don’tcha watch television?”

Rick flinches at the mention of pretty girls, but covers it up with a distasteful snort as he picks anxiously through what Daryl already cast aside.  “And we were actually _invited_?”

“Maggie’s throwin’ it, and since she’s suckin’ Glenn’s cock on a daily basis, all his friends are invited.”

“Mr. Greene’ll never let that happen.”  Rick tries not to sound too hopeful.

“Who says he knows anythin’ ‘bout it?”

Sighing, Rick tugs the nearest costume off the rack and holds it up for Daryl to look at, not at all surprised when the other boy pretends to gag.

-x-

Feeling ridiculous in a skin-tight Batman costume, Rick still can’t help the small shiver that races down his spine at the sight of Daryl in his Han Solo outfit. 

“Lookin’ good Mr. Wayne,” he jokes, adjusting the gun holster wrapped around his leg.

Swallowing hard, Rick nods his thanks and moves as quickly towards the front door as he can without seeming either eager or scared.  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, shut it, Dixon.  Let’s get a move on and call it a night.”

Rick has to bite his tongue to keep from telling Daryl that he looks like a marble-carved rendition of his every fantasy.

-x-

Maggie Greene, being as flashy as she is popular, ends up throwing a party the size of a small riot.  Flashing lights and bass-heavy music, complete with a DJ dressed head-to-toe in metallic silver and gold.  Almost every inch of the large farm house is crowded with alcohol-induced dancing and grinding— _mostly grinding_ —and it takes everything in Rick’s being not to grab Daryl by the back of his collar and drag him straight back out.

Daryl seems pleased with the atmosphere, however, smiling his approval as he snatches a beer off one of the many coffee tables.  He offers one to Rick, but the more sensible boy denies it, arguing that one of them has to be sober enough to drive them both home.

_“You made it!”_

Rick is watching Daryl lift the drink to his lips when Beth Greene pops up beside him, smiling sweetly and nodding in acknowledgement at Daryl. 

“I thought for sure you guys wouldn’t come, considerin’ you guys’ve never partied before…” She trails off and glances again at Daryl.  “Well, at least _one_ of you hasn’t.”

Daryl cracks a grin and heads into a swarm of people, leaving Rick behind like he’s become so used to doing more and more these days.

“Nice to see ya’ too,” he sighs, following her towards the kitchen where she pours him a glass of caffeine-free soda and passes it to him with a sympathetic shrug.

“Boys are clueless, ‘specially ones like him.  They like their girls and their alcohol.  Can’t blame ‘im for it.”

“Sure about that?” Rick asks a bit angrily. 

She rubs his arm.  “Have ya’ told him yet?”

Guilt pricks at his conscience as he shakes his head.  How can he blame Daryl when it’s his fault in the first place for never being honest with the other boy?  “Better off not doin’ so, considerin’ he’d probably pop his lid if he knew I ran that way.”

In the corner of the room, a couple is intertwined messily, fingers exploring and lips making contact with drunken accuracy.  Rick wishes suddenly that he wasn’t the expected designated driver, because he could sure as hell go for some of whatever they’re drinking. 

After losing Daryl, Rick sticks close to Beth’s side, talking idly with her friends and ignoring the way some of the more intoxicated girls like to crowd his personal space.  Beth shoots him a lot of pitying glances, but all they do is make him feel even worse. 

_Worse_ because he’s stuck at a party that he never wanted to come to in the first place.  _Worse_ because Beth is really too sweet for her own good and it’s starting to make him feel sick to his stomach.  _Worse_ because Daryl is probably out there grinding on some pretty little scrap of a girl, holding and kissing her like she’s some sort of _national fucking treasure_.  _Worse_ because Rick wants that to be _him_ , pressed against Daryl with the knowledge that nothing would come between them, even just for the night.

But, no, because Rick is a boy and Daryl is an idiot and he’s always _hated_ Halloween.

-x-

Whether it’s been minutes or hours since arriving, Rick has no idea.

All he knows is that Glenn suddenly bursts into the kitchen, buzzing with excitement and alcohol as he grabs Beth’s hand and motions for Rick to follow.  “ _Dude_ , come on!”

As tempted as he is to stay behind, Beth pouts at him, and Rick has always been a frustratingly kind person, always putting other people before himself.

So, he follows.

The sound of cheering meets his ears as he’s led into the living room.  Maggie is standing in the middle of a large circle of people, a glass bottle in her hand as she sways a bit unsteadily on her feet.  “ _Seven minutes in heaven, bitches_!”

More cheering.

Rick’s stomach churns when he catches sight of Daryl sitting on the floor, a heavily intoxicated Amy Bell leaning over his shoulder while her sister watches angrily from across the circle.  Daryl doesn’t even attempt to make eye-contact, doesn’t even nod or acknowledge Rick’s existence as he takes a seat beside Glenn.  He lets Amy fondle him and that’s supposed to be it, Rick guesses.  End of story.

Except that Rick is starting to get _really_ pissed off, kind person or not. 

Daryl should know more than anyone that Rick Grimes is one of the last people you ever want to mess with.

“I’m goin’ first,” he calls, reaching for Maggie’s hand and snatching the bottle before she can say anything about it. 

Daryl looks at him now, eyes narrowed in confusion and misunderstanding as Amy kisses up his neck.  His eyes say ‘ _What the Hell are ya’ doin’ here, Dixon?_ ’ 

Rick just smiles, feeling a surge of confidence as he leans towards the center of the circle.  He flicks his wrist like he would flick the safety of a gun, remembering from lessons from his father in the woods that every motion, no matter how simple, has to be careful and calculated.  He spins the glass like he would pull the trigger.  Waits like he would wait for the bullet to hit its target.

Beside him, Glenn snorts.  Maggie shouts.  The sound fades to white noise as Rick looks up, smiling with satisfaction at his target.

Daryl swallows hard, ignoring Amy’s angry gasp and Maggie’s playful swat at the back of the head.  “Ya’ gotta do it, Dixon!  Gotta kiss _Rick_!”

Laughter swells around them like a bubble, and Rick is suddenly starting to regret his decision. 

Daryl is as straight as a fucking arrow and, drunk or otherwise, there’s no way in hell he’s going to be comfortable with this, even if the most they end up doing is fumbling for space in the enclosed space of the Greene’s’ coat closet. 

Glen nudges him in the ribs and, before he knows it, he’s being pushed towards the closet.  Looking across the room shows Daryl in a very similar position, eyes cast towards the carpet and hands balled into fists.

_What the hell have I done?_

-x-

Even for one person, the closet is much too small.  Rick is surrounded by the smell of moth balls and wool, scratching self-consciously at the back of his neck as Daryl is pushed towards the entrance.

“We’ll be counting down!” Glenn shouts, shoving Daryl the rest of the way in and closing the door behind him.  “Try to keep your pants on, boys!”

More laughter, mocking and encouraging all at the same time.

Rick inhales, catching the taste of alcohol on his tongue as Daryl struggles to make room for himself.

“Look, Daryl—“

Daryl grunts, tripping over a belt or a shoe or _something_.  Rick catches him without thinking, hands wrapping around well-defined arms and breath catching in his throat.

Daryl looks up at him, and Rick mistakes the fog over his eyes for intoxication.

“Ya’ did this on purpose, didn’tcha?” Daryl doesn’t pull away, doesn’t make any attempt at all to further the distance between them.  “Got sick of me actin’ like an idiot, so ya’ finally grew some balls’n yer god damned hand-eye coordination to spin that bottle right at me.”

“Wha—“

“I’m not blind, ya’ know, and I’m not too drunk t’know that ya’ did this all on purpose.  I don’know how to keep my fuckin’ mouth shut, and I’ll probably regret sayin’ this all as soon as we get outta here, but I was hopin’ that bottle would land on me, ya’ dumb shit.”

Before Rick can put two and two together, Daryl is closing the space between them and slamming their mouths together with a painful, sweet, bruising force. 

Rick gasps as his back hits a wall of hanging fabric, reaching instinctively for the back of Daryl’s neck.  The kiss is short and rough, but Daryl holds him close and finishes it off with a hand on Rick’s cheek, smiling sloppily. 

“Daryl—“

“Shut the fuck up,” he whispers roughly, dropping his forehead against the shorter teen’s.  “I ain’t no sap, but I’ll tell ya’ that I’ve wanted this for a while, so don’t go ruinin’ it on me with that stupid mouth ‘a yours.”

And they kiss again, only this time Daryl swipes his tongue across Rick’s bottom lip, and the touch is so euphoric that his toes curl in his shoes and he can’t help the way his jaw falls slack, entirely willing for whatever Daryl wants to give him.

Their bodies are pressed so tightly together that Rick doesn’t know where the plastic of his costume starts and where Daryl ends, and he finds himself wishing that he’d never bought such a heavy outfit, because it sure as hell seems to be frustrating Daryl as his hands search and find no zippers or buttons.

So Daryl just growls—fucking _growls_ —and kisses Rick harder, tugging frustratingly at his curls.  Rick chokes on a groan when Daryl’s lips move to his neck, and they might only have four minutes and seventeen seconds left, but Rick is entirely certain that he’s just discovered his new favorite holiday.

 


End file.
